


And Not Waving, But

by staranise



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Biting, First Kiss, M/M, Plot What Plot, Secret Relationship, World War II, seduction of the not-so innocent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranise/pseuds/staranise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Steve's a clumsy kisser, like a clumsy dance partner waiting for a lead.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Not Waving, But

**Author's Note:**

> So lalaietha [wrote a prompt fill for Steve and Bucky in wartime (from her ](http://recessional.dreamwidth.org/705080.html?thread=7416632#cmt7416632)[Your Blue-Eyed Boys](http://archiveofourown.org/series/107477) universe) and it inspired me to write a thousand words of Steve and Bucky kissing for the first time. (This is assuming the setup of Bucky leaving a card game with the Commandos and crawling into Steve's lap and chewing on his neck until Steve clues in.)

Steve's a clumsy kisser, like a clumsy dance partner waiting for a lead. But Bucky had _felt_ the moment Steve clued in, the entire realization filling the body under his hands with a rush of wind, and then Steve's hands were on him, new and feverish, on his arm and in his hair, and there were small, determined kisses being planted on Bucky's jaw and neck and ear and anywhere Steve could touch. He'd hesitated when Bucky raised his head to smirk, stared at him with eyes fixed wide and panting between parted lips, like something innocent about to be devoured; and then leaned his head into Bucky's hand, followed its pull, and kissed with breath that broke and trembled. Kissed, and broke, and kissed again; Bucky felt his hands hover in tentative curls on his back for a moment before Steve let himself touch, palms sliding around Bucky's waist and shoulderblades, heaving him closer into the curl of his arms.

Bucky is kneeling, holding between himself and the wall a Steve open to instruction, the way he used to let Bucky touch and move his arms and legs to prod him into the right boxing stance. He is attentive to the lift of Bucky's hand that angles his chin up when he would have dropped it, the hinge that turns the brushing and sliding of lips into an exchange of mouths. That's the angle Bucky takes advantage of. When he's drinking in Steve's mouth, every thing he does mirrored back to him with careful precision, the touch of skin and puff of breath bite though the numbness and are something _new_ outside of the cold. He's got one up on Steve; he's got a buddy who's wholly inexperienced pressed against a wall with Bucky kneeling between his legs, who's groping blindly but doesn't know all the tricks _yet_ and Bucky's got a good thirty seconds before Steve figures them out and starts using them to run the show again.

No; Steve has put his hand around the back of Bucky's head, assigned it a firm tilt, and kisses him so deeply his head is swimming before he realizes he's broken the kiss to _breathe_ , and that was an insufficient gasp before he is trying to burrow into the warmth of the next kiss. And clawing at the neck of Steve's shirt, which isn't going to help because _shirts don't work like that_ , and trying to press him entirely into the wall which doesn't work because his _knee_ is in the way, and he's helped when Steve hitches him closer, somehow solving the knee problem, and letting him breathe within a steady pattern of kissing that neither of them are quite controlling.

He kisses like he's a soldier, like somehow he was _born_ for this and his awkward body was waiting his whole life for the moment when it would be asked to step into the ring and do what it was born to do; like all his mouth was meant to do was resuscitate James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky twists Steve's hair in his fingers and knows a helpless moment of not being at all in charge, because Steve is big and strong and broad and Steve's got him with the same crazy-ass determination that meant Steve had a plan, a _good_ plan, because this fight was important enough not just to fight but to _win._

He flows into Steve's body and doesn't feel the need to supply a contingency plan when Steve's mouth draws away--doesn't even _worry_ \--and out of the pleasant haze of feeling comes a faint cerebral _ting_ that there's something to which he should pay attention, as Steve grazes the side of his neck with huffed breath and lips and nose, which is faint and disconnected and still taken utterly by surprise when Steve's teeth on the side of his neck sink into his reverie.

Steve holds on even when Bucky arches with a noiseless gasp, his head rearing back, and one hand has to shoot out to hit the wall to brace against; his teeth only let go and leave his lips nuzzling over the bite and down to the joint of neck and shoulder when the moment of convulsion is past, and Bucky's eyes can venture open again. His other hand, his arm, are clutching Steve's head like something precious as Steve deliberately maps his way to the next bite.

From far away the words arrive: _Oh right, Steve knows I like--_ Steve has teased him for bitemarks hidden beneath collars, knows he'll put up with a little extra for a dame who'll use her teeth, but all along the little bastard has been stowing the information away and planning to _use_ it.

He guides Steve's head to bite there, and there, and then switching to the other side of the neck; he can make hands that are shaking hold him upright, and pull his collar sideways to expose more shoulder. Steve helps. Steve is doing things with buttons; Steve is taking back his mouth like it's territory he's conquered for America. Bucky doesn't find he minds when Steve has somehow repositioned legs, and is pulling him down a short distance to the floor. He is no longer upright; gravity is no longer a losing battle that distracts him in his quest to find the curve of Steve's ears and the small of his back, the skin of his waist and the cleft of his chin; and Steve is free--gloriously free--to do _that._ And that. And _there._

He sucks in a breath and listens hard at the different kinds of silence; the conversation of men and creak of wind and old wood, the inhalations and exhalations that bracket Steve's quiet breath; and when he's sure he's got it all he knows he can whisper, "The time to stop that is maybe never."

Steve, he thinks soupily, _grins_ , like a thousand-watt bulb, and whispers back: _"Buck."_ His thumb reaches over Bucky's lips, then makes way for him to begin a very slow, deliberate kiss.


End file.
